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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23264752">Flick of the Wrist</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackbentley/pseuds/blackbentley'>blackbentley</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anxious Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is a Tease (Good Omens), Fluff and Smut, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Is soft bondage a thing let's make it a thing, Light Angst, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, POV Crowley (Good Omens), Painplay, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rope Bondage, S&amp;M, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safewords, Shibari, Smut, Teasing, Top Crowley (Good Omens), Whipping</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 06:47:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,449</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23264752</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackbentley/pseuds/blackbentley</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Literally just an excuse to write a short one-shot about Crowley and Aziraphale's first attempt at rope bondage, with added whip action. I'm not sorry. </p><p>Features Crowley being an anxious wreck (not that I'm projecting AT ALL) and Aziraphale enjoying being tied up and given a bloody good thrashing ;)</p><p>Also contains a lot more feelings than originally intended.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale &amp; Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>56</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Flick of the Wrist</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aziraphaliac/gifts">Aziraphaliac</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Little CW: does contain a non-graphic reference to leaving marks on a partner (consensually!) so maybe skip if that's not your thing.</p><p>Decided to stick with using Queen songs for titles, Flick of the Wrist is from their album Sheer Heart Attack.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">Crowley's nervous. He doesn't like it. Although a certain level of background anxiety is to be expected when you're a demon who is – to put it mildly – Not Very Good at toeing Hell's particular party line, he doesn't often suffer with nerves of the dry-mouthed, shaky-handed, I'm-really-not-sure-if-I-can-pull-this-off variety.</p><p class="western">Oh, they've discussed it at length, and in some detail. They have safewords in place, both for <em>stop</em> and <em>don't stop but could you back it off a bit?</em> He wants this very badly, and he knows that Aziraphale does too, he just also wants very badly to not cock it up. When one of the first things you did with your existence was comprehensively make an arse of it, you tend to worry about that sort of thing.</p><p class="western">“Everything all right, my dear?” Aziraphale's voice, warm and affectionate, pulls Crowley out of his own head.</p><p class="western">"Course. Just checking I've got ... everything."</p><p class="western">'Everything', in this context, being several metres of neatly looped black paracord which Crowley lifts out of his bag as though it might bite him. He fumbles with the knot securing it and swears softly to himself.</p><p class="western"><em>Get your shit together. Call yourself a demon? If you can't manage to tie up an angel and rough it up a bit for your own gratification then what</em> exactly<em> is the point of you?</em></p><p class="western">"Fuck off." Crowley mutters as he runs the cord through unsteady fingers, leaving it snaked across the hotel bed.</p><p class="western">He turns to Aziraphale, placing a hand at the small of the angel's back and pressing their bodies together; he drops a soft kiss on one shoulder, nips with his teeth and then runs his tongue lazily from collarbone to ear. Aziraphale lets out a soft squeak and his knees start to quiver. Crowley cups the back of his head with the other hand and ruffles his hair before yanking his head back sharply. Aziraphale gasps, pupils blown wide, the pressure of Crowley's hand at the base of his spine all that's keeping him from crumpling to the floor.</p><p class="western">"<em>Kneel."  </em>Crowley hisses, soft and threatening. "On the bed. Hands behind your back. <em>Now</em>."</p><p class="western">Aziraphale does as he's told. Crowley starts to step towards him and suddenly pulls up short, heart lurching in his chest.</p><p class="western">He can't do it. He can't. Can't bear the thought that he might let Aziraphale down, somehow, that he might not make this good for him, that it won't be everything he wants it to be. A familiar cold panic starts to rise as the full weight of the trust that's being placed in him hits home, and a voice he knows all too well starts to fill the spaces in his mind.</p><p class="western">
  <em>Disappointment isn't all that's at stake here, is it, though? You could hurt him. Actually hurt him. </em>
</p><p class="western">Normally if he fucks up it's only his pride, dignity and self worth at risk, but the thought of hurting Aziraphale makes him want to vomit. </p><p class="western"><em>Started to believe it, didn't you? Started to think all the things he told you were right? That you're </em>good <em>and </em>forgivable <em>and </em>worthy of him. <em>Not a chance, you'll get it wrong as always and he'll get hurt and oh, he'll be sweet about it but he'll never, </em>ever <em>let you</em> <em>...</em></p><p class="western">"Love?"</p><p class="western">Crowley squeezes his eyes shut and tries to force the taunting voice out of his head. He's already ruined this. He wants to claw his skin off.</p><p class="western">The mattress creaks and cool fingers slip between his own. The touch grounds him just as he feels his feet are going to leave the floor.</p><p class="western">“Talk to me, my love. What is it?”</p><p class="western">"Can't do it." Crowley mumbles in the general direction of the floor. </p><p class="western">Aziraphale's voice is soothing, the tone you'd take with a frightened animal; push too hard and you'll end up with explosive panic, and Crowley disappearing down a hole of self-loathing for days. Easy does it. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to, you know that, my dear. So what is it?" </p><p class="western">"I - I <em>want </em>to, I just ... what if I get it wrong?" </p><p class="western">"Darling, you wo-"</p><p class="western">"But I <em>might</em>," Crowley raises his head, meets Aziraphale's eyes. "And what if I hurt you?" He drops his gaze back to the carpet.</p><p class="western">Aziraphale raises a hand to Crowley's face and strokes the demon's cheek with his thumb.</p><p class="western">"I trust you, my darling. Completely. With this. With <em>me</em>. I promise - look at me, please, love - I won't let you take this too far, and I <em>promise</em> you won't hurt me." Aziraphale raises a mischievous eyebrow. "Well, not any more than I want you to. So why don't you come over here and <em>teach me a fucking lesson</em>?" He bites Crowley's earlobe, much harder than usual, making him yelp.</p><p class="western">It's enough, just enough, to knock Crowley off of his impending spiral and bring him back. He lets out a breath he didn't realise he was holding, and some of the tension leaves him. Aziraphale steps back, smiles, and then gives a startled "oof" as he's picked up bodily and thrown onto the bed. Immediately Crowley is on top of him, pinning his hands to the mattress with a satisfied grin on his face. He leans in, breathing against Aziraphale's ear. </p><p class="western">"You'll regret that, sweetheart." Crowley's voice is amused, with just the barest hint of menace. "I'll make sure of it." He grinds his hips against Aziraphale and gets a delightfully obscene moan in return. "Back on your knees where you belong. Face that way." He nods towards the headboard, then retreats to the foot of the bed. Aziraphale scrambles to comply, and seconds later he's in position with his hands linked loosely behind him.</p><p class="western">Crowley approaches him slowly on all fours, and can hear the angel's breath hitching with anticipation as he pauses to lick a slow stripe up his back. He trails the fingers of his right hand languidly from the nape of Aziraphale's neck all the way to his tailbone and sees goosebumps starting to prickle the angel's skin. Crowley's face lights up; he has never doubted Aziraphale's honesty when he tells him how he feels, or how much he wants him, but it's remarkably satisfying to see such an obvious physical reaction to his touch.</p><p class="western">Still moving with an agonising (and completely feigned) lack of urgency, Crowley digs his nails in and drags them up Aziraphale's spine, eliciting a soft whimper. He pays particular attention to the shoulderblades, where Aziraphale's wings would be if he chose to show them; wings of pure white, soft and beautiful but absolutely radiating power. The thought of running his hands through angel feathers, of Aziraphale arching his back and crying out with pleasure, distracts Crowley momentarily. He gives himself a shake.</p><p class="western"><em>Another time. </em>As much as he loves them, they would only get in the way.</p><p class="western">He places a hand over Aziraphale's throat and pulls him back, gently, until he's leaning flush against Crowley's chest.</p><p class="western">"Ready, angel?"</p><p class="western">Aziraphale swallows hard.</p><p class="western">"... when you are, demon."</p><p class="western">Crowley gives Aziraphale a squeeze, and releases his grip. He runs his hands gently from the angel's shoulders down his arms, and draws his hands together at the small of his back. He holds them there for a moment, palms to opposite wrists, presses a reverent kiss to the back of Aziraphale's neck and breathes in the scent of his hair.</p><p class="western">Crowley has practised, and practised, and <em>practised</em> for this by himself; tied his own legs in knots whenever he had the chance, and even without a rope to hand he's been running through the process in his mind, moving his hands along with the imaginary knots. He could probably manage blindfolded at this point but he still worries.</p><p class="western">He squares his shoulders, takes a deep, steadying breath, and begins.</p><p class="western">Crowley wraps the folded end of the cord round Aziraphale's wrists, fixes it with a quick-release knot and gives it a sharp tug to make sure it will hold without tightening. He passes the cord twice round the top of his chest, allowing nimble fingers to linger and nip and stroke as they please, then loops it back around itself, pulling the angel's hands higher up his back. Aziraphale hisses through his teeth as the rope bites.</p><p class="western">"Too tight?"</p><p class="western">"It's perfect, love."</p><p class="western">Crowley takes the cord twice round again, level with the bottom of Aziraphale's breastbone. He secures it just above his tied hands then sits back to admire his handiwork. He's very pleased with himself. The rope crossing the angel's body is tied neatly and precisely, binding his wrists and pinning his upper arms to his sides. </p><p class="western">"No wriggling out of that, angel. You're ... beautiful, like this."</p><p class="western">Aziraphale throws an affectionate (if mildly exasperated) look over his shoulder.</p><p class="western">"That all you've got planned for me, hm? Just going to sit there and gaze at me adoringly?"</p><p class="western">"Might do. Or maybe ..."</p><p class="western">Crowley plants a hand firmly between Aziraphale's shoulders and pitches him forward onto the bed, keeping a hold of the free end of the cord to slow his fall. Aziraphale lets out a muffled yelp of surprise as his face hits a pillow.</p><p class="western">"Maybe I'll torment you a bit. Show you what Hell's got to offer. Do a little <em>tempting</em>." Crowley runs a hand down Aziraphale's back to his arse, and squeezes. "Don't think it'll take much, d'you? Gluttonous, hedonistic little angel like you? Have you begging for it in no time."</p><p class="western">"Do your worst, my love." </p><p class="western">"Oh, darling," Crowley slips a hand between Aziraphale's thighs and brushes two fingers lightly between his legs, causing a sharp intake of breath. "I intend to."</p><p class="western">He leans forward and peppers Aziraphale's body with kisses in the gaps between the cords, starting at the top of his spine and working his way down, occasionally flicking his tongue across pale, perfect skin, sinking his teeth in when the need gets too much. He's just gathering up the the cord to move it out of the way when something occurs to him. He flicks a length of rope experimentally across Aziraphale's bottom - not too hard but enough to raise a moan from the angel, who turns his head and looks at him, wide-eyed.</p><p class="western">"... again?"</p><p class="western">Aziraphale nods enthusiastically.</p><p class="western">"Kinky little bastard."</p><p class="western">Crowley hits him, harder this time. Aziraphale groans and clenches his teeth through a mouthful of duvet. There's a sharp <em>crack</em> as the cord comes down across the back of his thighs, and he squirms rapturously. Crowley changes tack slightly, whipcracking the cord with demonic accuracy as Aziraphale whines and twitches, arching into each strike.</p><p class="western">Please. More. Again. <em>Harder</em>.</p><p class="western">Crowley takes his time, switching between swift blows and slow, gentle strokes, making sure his angel never knows what's coming next. He drags the rope over Aziraphale's back and thighs, trails it between his legs and then sends it stinging across his backside. Aziraphale squeaks desperately, grinding himself against the mattress; when his face isn't buried in the bed he twists round to look at Crowley imploringly.</p><p class="western">As for Crowley, he's already clinging on to the ragged edges of his self control. Everything in him is howling to reach out, to touch, and taste, and fuck Aziraphale until he screams. He could drown in this feeling; that there's nothing but the two of them, in this moment, feeding on each other's pleasure like they've been long starved. Which he supposes they have - even when you're immortal, six thousand years doesn't exactly pass in the blink of an eye. He's thought about this for so long, wanted it for so long, spent so long keeping the guttering flame of his love for Aziraphale alight against all the odds, even when he thought it might burn him away to nothing. And now they're here, and it's perfect; the world fades to white noise.</p><p class="western">Here. Now. You. Me. This, and only this.</p><p class="western">He slides his hand between Aziraphale's hips and the mattress, tortuously slow, and is delighted by what he finds.</p><p class="western">"Ready, are we, angel?"</p><p class="western">The most Aziraphale can manage in response is a strangled "mmhm."</p><p class="western">He's an absolute picture. Flushed pink, with a delicate tracery of red welts across his back, his arse and his thighs, he's the most breathtaking thing Crowley has ever seen. Splayed out face down, writhing against the rumpled sheets and completely unable to control the sweet, helpless sounds escaping his lips as Crowley traces the whip marks gently with his fingers.  He's glorious, gorgeous ... it's a total cliche, but the word <em>heavenly</em> springs to mind.</p><p class="western">It's not enough, though. Crowley needs to see him. Needs to look him in the eye as he drives him over the edge.</p><p class="western">Aziraphale begins to protest when his bonds are untied, but it only lasts until Crowley flips him onto his back and kisses him hard. Crowley keeps kissing him as he re-ties his wrists, in front this time, and then pauses for breath as he uses the cord to haul his hands up above his head. Crowley holds him there and presses their mouths together again as he explores as much of Aziraphale as he can reach with his free hand.</p><p class="western">He moves his attention to Aziraphale's neck and jaw, kissing and licking and biting whatever he can get at. The angel bucks his hips, curls his toes, and makes needy, inarticulate noises that almost sound like sobbing.</p><p class="western">Crowley knows he can do it, he knows he can give Aziraphale what he wants; and that, really, is all he needs. Right now he needs it very badly. But that doesn't mean he's going to make it easy.</p><p class="western">"What do you want, angel?"</p><p class="western">Aziraphale looks at him, chest heaving.</p><p class="western">"You have to tell me what you want. I want to hear you <em>say it</em>."</p><p class="western">"Take me." Aziraphale pants.</p><p class="western">Crowley tips his head to one side, raises an eyebrow and smirks. He's not done yet.</p><p class="western">"Ask nicely, like a good angel."</p><p class="western">"Take me ... <em>please</em>."</p><p class="western">There's a pleading note in his voice which almost undoes Crowley completely. He fixes the angel's blue eyes with his own yellow ones, and nods.</p><p class="western">Aziraphale is already wound tight, and Crowley knows <em>exactly </em>where and how to push him; it's not long before he comes with a keening shudder that wracks his whole body, curling in on himself as Crowley holds him tightly and rocks him through it, murmuring endearments with his lips pressed against damp blonde curls.</p><p class="western">Afterwards, when Aziraphale has gone limp and stopped trembling, Crowley tucks him under his arm and twines their bodies together under the duvet. He feels Aziraphale's breath on his shoulder, hums contentedly, and snuggles him closer.</p><p class="western">As he slips away into sleep, everything else drops away.</p><p class="western">Here. Now. You. Me. This, and only this.</p>
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